Herr Doktor, Mein Doktor
by Herr Doktor
Summary: A disastrous attempt at defending a supply tower cripples red team's pillar of support, the medic. Resiliency is a trait that they will all need. -Requested by StarkReactor


AN: I'm pretty sure it's been a millennia since this was requested, I'm so sorry X(

I've never seen someone's exposed lungs before. That's doc's job. He makes sure we don't have to deal with too much deep dirt ugly.

Only, what's a doc to do when he's lying on the ground bleeding his guts out? I've seen Medic pull off some crazy stunts. He's kept us alive when we thought we'd never see our families again. He's taken rockets to the face, bullets to the knee, and everything in between. Sometimes he does it with that fancy medigun of his, sometimes without. That man doesn't feel pain the way the rest of us do.

It should have been so simple. BLU was moving a cart full of explosives to one of our supply towers. Stop them. It was so damn simple!

We'd waited right by the tower, and the ancient old house next to it. I had my sentry up and spinning. Demo had set up traps everywhere, and I didn't even know where to step. Hell, I don't think _Demo_ knew where to step. Medic sat waiting by soldier with that kritzkrieg of his. It broke last week. Took me three sleepless days to fix it. I should've told him to bring something else.

Scout ran back, all in a hurry, saying that the blues were coming on quick. Fine by me. I was getting bored just hanging around by a rickety old box of a building.

"I see them. Ugly buggers," Sniper murmured. He sat on top of my dispenser, glaring through his scope into the dusty distance, through a tangle of rock spires and dead trees. It beats me why our bosses bought this useless patch of dirt. Then again, they're businessmen-people who make a fat living off of other people's sweat and blood. They don't need much in the way of brains to make money.

"Zhey vill most likely scout us first," Medic murmured, eyes bright with anticipation. "Zhey vill send zhe scout, or zhe spy. Eizher vay, ve vill be ready."

Pyro let out a cheerful series of mumbles.

"Ja, I know. Do not vorry," Medic replied. That man is the only one who can decipher Pyro's babble.

Everyone's wondered for ages what's under that mask. Except me, of course. I think if a man or woman wants to keep to his or her self, so be it. What's everyone got to bother them for?

Demoman grumbled some curses and sat down hard on a rock. "I'm getting a wee bored here, lads."

"They're on us in ten," Sniper said casually, shifting his position on my dispenser. "So get your bombs and booze ready, scotch-chugger."

"I cannot find shotgun!" Heavy complained, his big, bald, head swiveling around. He reminds me of the old dog I had when I was a boy. Big, a little dumb, and very fierce.

Medic handed him my spare, and then glanced around. "Everyvone stay close at zhe start-let me get zhe overheals on you."

Smart man, our Medic. A little wrong in the head, but smart.

We hung around for a while, and I thought idly of Irene. I hope to God she's safe and happy. Then Sniper broke into my thoughts. How rude.

"Oi! Lugheads! Something's up!"

"What is it, hobbit-man?" Soldier snapped. "Why have you _interrupted_ my _meditation?_" Meditation my foot. He was trying to kill flies with his shovel.

A warm breeze blew over our little gathering as we all turned to Sniper.

"A couple of the bastards are missing. The Soldier and the Spy aren't with the rest."

Heavy chuckled. "Spy is not big deal."

Our own spy shrugged. "They will not be a problem. They must have broken off to get something, or maybe they are headed this way to scout." He seemed to consider his statement for a moment, and then amended himself. "They might be a problem if we don't look for them at all. I will search the area." He stalked off, vanishing into a faint flicker of light.

The area looked pretty defensible. The supply tower was situated on a large patch of sand. All around us was a forest of rock pillars and dead trees. I don't like the way those trees look, like the hands of the dead reaching out of their graves to claw at the sky…I'm not real superstitious, but my pa sure was. He must've rubbed off on me.

I shined up my new Pomson. This little toy shoots highly concentrated blasts of energy that absorb drifting particles or excess energy from whatever it hits. I'm ready to use this thing.

"Vhere is Demoman?"

I paused, turning to look around. Say, where was that drunk?

"Dear MOTHER! Help!"

Demo shot out from behind a cluster of trees, followed closely by a couple of revolver rounds.

"They're here! The _whole_ bloody team is here!"

"What?" Sniper spun around, and stared through his scope into the trees. "They're-they're gone! No way!"

Then the ground exploded.

Red and orange blasted out of the ground all around me. I choked over nothing, and stumbled back as my sentry disintegrated to chunks of steel. Sniper was knocked flying into the air, rocketing past to slam into the ground with a sickening _crunch_. I let my battered hands grasp onto my wrench.

I opened my eyes, and realized my right eye was blinded by blood, leaking in warm gushes from a slice on my forehead. Pain came in bursts from my left leg, which I sensed was busted. Well, by sensed, I meant felt. And by felt, I meant that it was bent the wrong way.

Rockets rained down on us. A motionless lump-was that pyro? Lay nearby, motionless. We were giving a real fight though. Spy decloaked behind the blue pyro and plunged his knife deep, then flickered out of sight. Demo swung his pan, completing twisting his victim's(the blue spy)neck around with a horrible snap. I tightened my fingers around my wrench as the blue scout ran past. I grunted as he gave me a kick to the ribs.

"Not so tough now are you, wrench-head?"

"Scout, leave him alone. Help zhe ozhers," a softer voice said from off to the side. German-must be the blue doc.

The blue scout let a contemptuous snort out of his bratty face, and ran off, footsteps rapidly fading.

My chest hurt more than the time a bull rammed me in the side. Dust clogged my nose, and it took a lot of effort just to breathe.

The blue scout ignored his doc's advice, and headed back to me. Too bad for him.

Summoning up all the strength I had (and there wasn't much, let me tell you) I swung my wrench, and felt it connect with flesh. The scout's scream was cut short by an angry curse.

"Shit! You little f-"

I grabbed the damaged leg with my other hand, digging my fingers in, and feeling bone. I yanked, dragging the boy down onto his back, and at the same time hauling myself to my feet. Damn, my leg!

The ground was actually slick with blood, my own and the blue scout's. The twitchy rabbit lay on the ground, groaning. I ignored him. He wasn't worth my time. I walked, or really, slithered and stumbled, because there wasn't much left of my leg here.

It took me a while to realize everything was all muted. My ears-yeah, definitely deaf. Something warm and wet snaked down the side of my head. I better get that patched up soon, or I'll be unconscious faster than a fly in the cold.

I looked around. Every damn thing was on fire, even the sand. Our heavy was wrestling with the other heavy. Anyone else still standing was wresting with his counterpart.

I guess I was sort of dazed. I don't really know why I stood there like an idiot for a few minutes, but it wasn't until most of the fighting was over that my hearing came back and I woke up. The blues had torched the supply tower, and the tall metal structure was rapidly starting to crumple in on itself.

"Engineer! Engineer! Help me!" Heavy staggered over, heavily favoring his right leg. He was carrying two motionless lumps slung over his shoulders. I made my way over and helped him carry the smaller one. It was starting to get dark all around us, but the blistering flames lit my cargo's face.

Medic.

Doc's face was deathly pale. His left ear was coated in blood. In fact, the whole darn side of his head was cold and wet with blood. His chest was absolutely destroyed. The pearly white of his ribs showed through the gaps in his skin. I felt bile rise in my throat, and quickly looked away.

Heavy was holding Soldier, who was unconscious but looked otherwise alright. The blues were rapidly retreating, limping or running away. My teammates seemed alright, depending on the definition of "alright".

Pyro ran over, pulling an arrow out of his leg with a disgusting squelch. He gestured towards the others. Everyone was alive, at least. Even the doc is still breathing.

We all clustered around Medic as the fire began to spread to the side structure. Doc was breathing slowly, and as we watched, he began to breath faster, and a strange bubbling noise came from his mouth. Damn!

"Heavy! Tilt his head back a bit!" Heavy complied, and I carefully pried open the doc's mouth, and saw dark red fluid pooling in his mouth. "Turn him over. Put 'im in a kneeling position."

Heavy carefully adjusted Medic's thin frame with his massive hands. Blood oozed from his cracked lips.

"Where is our transport?" Spy asked.

"Hold on," Sniper grumbled. He fumbled with a now four-fingered left hand in his pockets.

"You should probably wrap that up," Scout suggested, staring at the area where the missing digit once was.

"I'll be fine," the Australian snapped. He tugged out his two-way. "Oi! You bozos in command get us a truck! Now! And bring a doctor too!" He turned up the volume and held the device out for us to listen to. In the center of our group, Medic shifted uncomfortably, and hacked up a bit more dark red blood.

_"…sending a transport. Describe extent of injuries."_

"We're all busted up pretty bad," I said, looking about at our scratches and cuts. "And Doc's almost dead. We gotta get him somewhere quick."

_ "…failed to secure tower…"_

The radio cut for a moment, and I wondered at that-they were worried about the damn tower?

_"…sending truck. No medical assistance available. Prepare to resume combat within two days."_

"Wha-wait! Hold on," Sniper snapped. "Doc's a bloody mess! We can't-"

_"Remember the terms of your contracts. Good day."_

God damn!

"Doctor?" Heavy was gently shaking the doc.

"Don't do that. Let's just wrap him up and wait for the truck. We have supplies back home anyhow," I muttered. "God…how do we fix up his chest? What even happened to him there?"

"Ah, I think he was fighting the enemy soldier," Demo said softly, turning the barrel on his grenade launcher. "I saw him take a shotgun shot right to his wee little chest, but then I had to fight the other bloody bastards."

"Check 'im for shrapnel later," I said. Heavy handed me a large roll of gauze and medical tape. "Where's his medigun? Might save him right about now."

The flames crackled in the background as we all looked at each other blankly.

"Well what are you idiots waiting for?" Spy hissed. "Look for it!"

While the other bozos fanned out and searched for the medigun, I carefully adjusted his arms, pinning them to his sides with the tape to form a brae of sorts. Minimize the movement.

"Here it is! Oh dear lord."

Spy hurried over with the mangled, scorched mess that was the medigun. The medigun's pack was warped and twisted, the red medical cross badly distorted by the burns. The medigun itself had been torn from the pack, and was violently spitting out red sparks.

"Give it here!" I took the ruined device into my hands and checked the connection tube. The hollow rubber surrounding it had been cut clean through. "Bastards did this on purpose."

"Shush a sec," Sniper said. "You all hear that?"

"You're always hearin' things the rest of us ain't," I said irritably. "You spend too much time sittin' alone is what you hear." I peeled back the cable's rubber and stared unhappily at the useless connection on the inside of the tube.

"No, it's an engine. Transport's here," Sniper said, glaring through the dying flames. He turned to me, eyeing my broken leg. "Alright. I'll carry you. Heavy, get the doctor."

The small, boxy green truck rumbled up. The driver, masked and wrapped in a thick, carpet-like coat hopped out and helped Heavy bring the medic into the van, where he was strapped onto a stretcher. Sniper had to basically carry me, since my leg was so badly twisted I couldn't put any weight on it at all.

Once we were all crammed in and the truck had set off, we sat in silence for some time. At last, Scout broke the silence.

"Shit."

"Thas' one way to put it," Demoman said gloomily. He reached out a scarred hand to adjust medic's head as more blood leaked from his mouth. "We made such a good team, lads. Guess one of us isn't going t'be with us tomorrow morning."

"He's not dead," Spy said flatly. He was wedged between Heavy and soldier, and consequently looked very, very small. "Engineer, can you help him?"

"Yeah," I said, gritting my teeth as the truck hit a bump and my leg was jarred. "We'll hook him up when we get back. I don't think he'll die. That Australian tech has done us some amazing stuff before. Can't say if he'll wake up, though."

"I was starting to like him too. Not as nuts as the last one," Sniper said. "Fix him up best as you can, but make sure you see to your leg too."

"I'm fairly certain you're not my mother, shanks."

"You're right. I'm your father."

A faint chuckle echoed around the rumbling cabin, and then silence until we reached our main quarters.

The moon wasn't a great light source, and for whatever reason the power wasn't on, so our work was somewhat difficult. Those of us who weren't needed were off to take a shower and to patch themselves up. Normally the medic takes care of all that, but he's lying on a stretcher with a hole in his chest. He's still breathing, and along the way we noticed the blood flow trail off. I could still see his ribs, though, which disturbed me.

I was stuck in an awkward pose as I set up my dispenser. Sniper held my leg out behind my while he gently checked my joint, and I balanced on the other leg while the dispenser sparked to life. The pale red mist flowed over the medic, and the skin began to seal. It's actually always interesting to watch. The muscles, connective tissue, and nerves can actually be seen growing. Strands of them join together, forming lines, and then solidifying into a layer of flesh.

Normally you'd also apply some antiseptics and whatnot to the surrounding area to minimize bacterial replication, but only the doc knew what mysterious bottle went where, so I didn't dare touch them.

I heard sniper comment, "The healing ray's started work on yer leg, but I'm gonna have to twist it around a bit or it won't heal right."

"Great," I said. "Go find some anesth-AH!"

Pain ran up my leg as sniper ground the damaged limb, and spots danced around my eyes. I tried to call sniper something unpleasant, but instead fell face forward and went out cold.

When I came to, my leg was whole. Very sore, but whole. Medic's chest was no longer gaping. The entire team was in my room, sleeping in various spots. Someone had placed me on my bed. Medic was on my workbench. Heavy and Demo were leaning against the far wall, somehow sleeping and standing, a trick I have never mastered. Everyone else was scattered around. It'll take weeks of vacuuming to get their stench out.

Scout was the only one awake, playing with the dials on the dispenser and watching the ray thicken and thin.

"Get away from there," I said sleepily. My words were slurred with exhaustion and pain. Only now did I notice a thin cut running along the bottom of my lower lip.

Scout glanced at me, and leaned away from the dispenser. "What are we gonna do?"

"It'll probably be a couple weeks before he's okay, assuming he wakes up at all," I replied drearily. I stretched, feeling kinks in my back untie themselves. "We'll have to take care of him until then."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

My eyes shot wide, as did Scout's. "Doc!"

Medic turned his head to glare at us dourly. "Yes, I am alive, thank you. Vhy is everyvone lying around? You'll all get sick and zhen I'll have more work on my hands…" He broke off, hacking and coughing. Dried blood flew from his mouth.

"Don't talk," I said, limping over.

Medic looked critically at my leg. "Broke it, didn't you? Looks a little swollen. I have ibuprofen in zhe large closet in zhe medical bay. Fourth shelf, small box with a label. Take one every eight hours."

"Worry about yourself, you're a mess. I don't even know how you're alive," I said, turning up the dispenser's output.

"Vhy didn't you just heal me on site vizh zhe medigun? I might have been combat ready in zhree days!" Medic asked. His sharp brown eyes darted around the room as he spoke.

"Well-"

"About that," Scout interjected. "It's busted."

"Hmm. I see. Vell, you did vell, engineer, all zhings considered. I have a feeling I von't be up for a couple of days."

"Heck no," I said. The rise and fall of his chest was awfully fast. "You alright there? You're wheezing up a storm."

"Ja. Help me sit up." I heaved him upwards, and his face contorted with pain, though he made no sound. He's a tough guy. "Now, when does combat begin?"

"That's the thing," I said uncomfortably. "The assholes in command want you ready in two days."

"Two days," Medic murmured softly, eyes narrowed with though.

"Not gonna happen. We'll just tell them-" I began.

"Wait. There is no point arguing vith them. You vill lose your job. I will be ready in two days. Don't vorry."

"You're basically dead."

"No. If I vas 'basically dead' I vould be _dead_." His face split into a sudden apologetic smile. "I am being cranky, aren't I? I'm sorry."

I grinned in return. "Let's get you something to drink. Think you can eat, too?"

"Not yet. Let my esophagus loosen up vizh liquid first."

Our doc ain't dead, and I plan on keeping him that way.

Three days pass. Contrary to their original instructions, the higher-ups seems to have suspended combat for the time being. On the second day, I awoke and got news that combat was cancelled, but Medic was fixated on his promise to be ready, and didn't yet know of the cancellation. When I arrived at his room he was trying to do some push ups, but just as I opened my mouth to stop him, he collapsed onto his chest, letting out a pained grunt and a rattling wheeze.

"What in sam hill do you think you're doing?" I heaved him onto the bed. He was already dressed in his war fatigues, long coat and all.

"Preparing for combat."

"It's cancelled. _Lie. Down._"

Two thin black eyebrows shot up his forehead, but he did as I was asked. The whole team bustled around, getting him food and helping him about. When there wasn't anything to be done for the medic, we cleaned our weapons and checked every inch of our equipment. Soldier once blew off a chunk of his hand by not cleaning out his rocket launcher barrel. The rocket caught on some gunk and exploded at the tip of the barrel.

Medic did his darndest to make things hard for us. Every time we turned around he was standing up, doing crunches, or trying to go outside. Every time we'd have to herd him in, only to find him practicing in the shooting range a minute later.

"You're not making this easy for us," Spy commented out loud once when we were getting the Medic his breakfast.

"Easy things aren't fun," he replied, eyes covered by the glare in his glasses.

On the fourth day, he actually disappeared around lunch. The frenzied team scattered, and searched every room, every corridor to no avail. Then Heavy heard clanking noises, and I said it was coming from the roof.

Medic was on the sloped roof, sitting by the small birdhouse where his doves roosted when not indoors. All the white avian critters flew in a cloud around him

It took Heavy threatening to eat three pounds of lard to get Medic to come down.

That evening, Heavy stood in Medic's doorway and did not budge until Medic was sound asleep at ten. We'd realized days earlier that Medic stayed up until about two AM reading, so I started slipping sleeping pills into his dinner. His one-eyebrow-raised look every morning made it clear that my actions were no secret.

At one point I heard him reminiscing to Scout.

"Vhen I vas nine, I broke my left arm in a car accident. I also had a concussion, and hairline fractures in both my legs. My left lung had collapsed, and zhey had to re-inflate it. I've alvays vondered since zhen vhen zhe next disasted vould happen. Zhey did happen. I was hit by a motorcycle twice vhen I vas fifteen. Vhen I cas seventeen I vas hospitalized vizh pneumonia. Come eighteen and I developed malaria during a foreign exchange trip. Twenty, and I get anozher concussion and both feet broken vhen I get mugged. But zhere is somezhing different now. I have all of you."

A week passed. Medic was still stiff, but now able to get around without panting. I don't even want to know how he got on the roof a couple of days earlier.

"Combat tomorrow," Medic said while I helped him clean the infirmary. I reached for a new sponge while I pondered that little tidbit.

"You're not quite ready," I said at last.

Medic turned to me, and I looked up to see his shiny white teeth. His grin made me shiver with strange anticipation.

"I've alvays been ready, Herr Engineer. I alvays vill be."

AN: Requested by StarkReactor. I have mostly omitted their accents (save medic) in favor of grammar. Rating of T is for descriptions of violence and occasional crude language. I decided to cut a lot of the content that I wrote in the beginning, since I'd written it so long ago and ultimately got lost in it, so I apologize for shortness.


End file.
